Play My Game
by purefoysgirl
Summary: Sequal to Cold As Stone and Beg: Draco tries to break his bond with Hermione and the pair begin their personal war. Violence and whatnotyou've been warned, I don't write for children!
1. Confrontation

**Once again I let my readers know that I do NOT follow the sequence of events nor do I care to merge my stories into the excellent books--I base my stories off of the movies, not the books anyway, and use the characters as I see fit. I apologize if they do not seem "in" character to you, by my standards they are very much in character and act accordingly. If I upset anyone, I would say that I'm sorry, but most likely I'll just tell you to go read another story that suits you better, because I know what I like and that's what I write.**

* * *

'_Beg_.'

That little _whore_!

Draco spent days fuming over the unexpected turn of events which had somehow placed Hermione Mudblood Granger back on her snobbish pedestal. No one remarked upon it, his temper being volatile at the best of times, and he found brief amusement in making Pansy run sobbing from the Slytherin common room—but it always came back to _Granger_. Somehow she always managed to come out on top, landing on her feet like a bloody _cat_.

On the third day he decided that two could play this game and deliberately sought her out, knowing where she was most likely to be.

He was very nearly to her usual study-table in the library when he heard her voice, raking down his nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard and causing him to imagine all sorts of horrors for her the next time he got her alone. Especially since she was at the very same table he'd had her so thoroughly on just days ago.

"Oh, for heaven's _sake_, Ronald! It isn't as if the two of you have so much as stepped _foot_ in here for weeks!" she was saying, and Draco sidled up to the nearest shelf, peering at the trio through the books with a smirk on his face.

Chamber-pot looked blankly agitated behind his enormous glasses, as usual, and the Weasel looked slightly perplexed.

"Honestly, Ronald, just _sit down_!" Hermione said, exasperated, already primly seated with her books spread out over the table.

Potter sat immediately, no dummy where Granger was concerned and with little enough backbone as it was.

"Hang on," Weasley said, brows drawn. "I can't even pull the chair out, Hermione! The table…it's _moved_ or something."

Draco stifled startled, gleeful laughter as Granger flushed brick red.

"Nonsense!" she announced. "Sit over here, then, I want to get started on my essay."

"I don't _want_ to sit over there, thank you very much," Weasley said, finally showing some spine, albeit to a _girl_. "Lend us a hand, Harry."

Like a jack-in-the-box Potter popped back up, helping the Weasel shove the table back where it had started from, both of them pushing with effort and very slow results.

Draco stifled another snigger and Granger giggled aloud, then covered her mouth with her hand, eyes huge.

"What's so bloody funny, then?" Weasley demanded, giving a final shove that settled the table back in place.

"Nothing," Granger said, trying to cover her mirth and looking both flustered and fairly caught-out. "It just took _both _of you to move the table, is all—I didn't think it was that heavy."

"_Yeah_," Weasley said, and dropped sullenly into the seat he wanted while Potty sat across from him and silently opened his books, clearly distracted by other matters.

Draco slipped out from behind the bookshelf, tote slung negligently over one shoulder, and approached the table, saying slyly, "Moving furniture again, are you, Granger? Becoming habit with you, isn't it?"

"What?" Weasley asked, suspicious as Hermione flushed even darker, clearly unnerved. "Shove off, Malfoy—leave her alone."

"Relax, I haven't done anything to your little girlfriend, Weaselby," Draco said, favoring him with a condescending smirk. Cutting his glance back at Granger, who had just become marvelously pale, he murmured, "At least nothing that shouldn't have been done _ages_ ago."

"Did you want something, Malfoy? Or have you run out of small animals to torture," Harry said, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

"She's not my girlfriend," Weasley muttered, flipping the pages of his book without even glancing at them.

Hermione shot Ron a withering look before resolutely turning her eyes up to Draco, her face a study in serenity.

"What do you mean, Potter?" Draco asked with a vicious smile. "I've found three small animals right here, haven't I?"

"Stop it, all of you!" Hermione said, the voice of reason as always, taking a steadying breath while the three boys glared at one another. She nodded a little to herself and said, "I'm sure that Draco is here for a good reason, Harry, he doesn't exactly relish our company. Is there something I can do for you, Malfoy?"

She sounded like a store clerk, and her face was just as impersonal.

"You _know_ what!" he tightly whispered, resisting the urge to yank her from the chair and shake her until her teeth rattled.

"_I_ want to know what," Ron piped in, while Harry merely looked wary.

"It isn't your business, Ronald," Hermione said, and looked back up at Draco. With a stiff, cool smile she said, "I'm really very sorry, Draco, but I wouldn't toss you a life preserver if you were drowning."

Her eyes narrowing, she flipped roughly through her book and spat with a mutinous glare, "Even if you _begged_."

Draco snarled at her, lips curling back from white, sharp teeth, his grey eyes like flint. His hands tightened on his tote-strap, knuckles bloodless with force. He slammed one hand down on the table right in front of her, making her jump, and leaned close to hiss into her startled face, "We'll see about this, Granger. Just you wait. When it comes again—and it _will_—you're going to seriously regret this little show of force."

"I seriously doubt that," she said, but her voice was unsteady and he saw the dark, secret desire stir in her eyes. He smirked to see it, knowing now that she wasn't entirely unaffected by him. In a pleading, strained whisper she said, "_Please_ go!"

"What's going on here?!" Weasley asked, only just starting to grow truly suspicious. "When _what_ 'comes again'?"

"Are we playing games, now, Granger?" Draco lowly asked, his voice silky-soft and cruel. Like his father, the more dangerous he became, the softer his tone and the more mild his voice was. "Because the only game _we'll_ play together is _mine_."

"Please just go!" she whispered, her eyes imploring, rapidly loosing control of the situation with both of her closest friends taking notice.

Draco quirked one eyebrow at her and straightened with a smirk, satisfied that he'd gotten his point across and had managed to shred her nerves—her hands trembled when they rested on her book and her pulse jumped in her throat so that even Weasley noticed it.

With a final, grim, grin, Draco Malfoy slowly sauntered off and whispered so that only Hermione would clearly hear him.

"We'll play_ my _game then, Granger."


	2. Are You Having Fun Yet?

The next day in Potions Draco used Snape's bias to his advantage and knocked over a vial of dragon bile when Granger passed him. It hit the floor with a loud crash, glass shattering all over the stone and the bile eating away at the floor like acid.

And all Draco had to do was stare at Granger like she'd grown another head.

"_Miss_ Granger, if you're going to be so clumsy I would prefer it if you were to be so in someone _else's_ class," Snape said in his usual lazy monotone.

"But Professor, I—"

"_Ten points_ from Gryffindor," Snape drawled. "And clean that mess up."

"But, sir, it was Malfoy—" Weasley started, only to cut short with a squeak when Snape glared at him.

"Everyone else turn to page one-hundred and two," Snape droned.

"Ew, that really stinks, Granger," Draco said, leaning over his desk to watch her kneel on the floor, attempting different charms to clean up the mess. "Dreadfully clumsy of you. How on earth do you get from place to place without hurting yourself, I wonder?"

Crabbe sniggered next to him, idly opening Draco's book to the appropriate page.

"I'm _not_ telling you how to break the bond," Hermione hissed, another charm failing to do the trick. "You're an ass but you tend to be an _interfering_ ass—I'm not letting go of what little control I can squeeze out of you."

"That's just fine, Granger," Draco murmured, keeping his voice low, his grey eyes flicking around the room to see if anyone was looking at him. He languidly reached out and neatly deposited a spider in Granger's curly hair. "You take as long as you like because _I'm_ not the one who will suffer for it."

"I'm _not_ suffering anything, Malfoy!" Hermione said, irritated.

"Miss Granger, I believe I told you to _clean_ _up _the mess, not talk it to death," Snape snapped, glaring over at them. "Mister Malfoy, if you wouldn't mind joining the rest of the class? And please _remove_ that rather nasty looking spider from Miss Granger's hair, if you will."

"Spider?" Hermione weakly squeaked, looking up at him in mute appeal.

"_Let the games begin_," Draco whispered, and she shot up off of the ground, shrieking, while the classroom erupted into shocked laughter.

"_Quiet_!" Snape roared, two rosy spots of blood on his high, sallow cheeks.

Potty leapt up and hurriedly managed to untangle the disgruntled spider from Granger's madly-curling hair, flinging it into a dark corner with a grimace of disgust that made Draco snigger even more.

"_Mister Potter_, detention for disrupting my class," Snape said, overriding Harry's protests. "_Miss Granger_, you will join him—I will not have my classroom overrun by a ruthless group of delinquents. Now _sit_! _Both of you_!"

"Professor Snape, this dragon's bile really smells, sir," Draco reminded, smiling when Snape pursed his lips, obviously irritated.

"Miss Granger, since you cannot manage to perform anything so simple as a cleaning charm you will spend your detention in the classroom scrubbing my floor," Snape slowly said, hands steepled beneath his chin. "Potter, you will do lines in my office."

Potty looked furious, but managed to tightly grind out, "Yes,_ sir_."

"And now that the melodrama is concluded," Snape absently said, returning to his notes. "Page one-hundred and two, the Complex Compound Resolver…"

Draco grinned openly while Hermione stiffly took her seat, her back ramrod straight and her lips compressed into a thin, angry line. When she looked over at him there was a delightful amount of venom in her eyes.

"Having fun yet, mudblood?" Draco asked, and winked at her.

Hermione looked fit to kill him, but merely arched an eyebrow.

The game had begun.


	3. Coming For You

"Do you want some chocolate, Draco? I brought a bit from dinner," Pansy said, offering him a square of chocolate wrapped in a dark green napkin. She no longer came into his presence without bearing gifts, trying to find some manner in which to appease him and allow her back into his dubious affections. When he ignored her she softly added, "I noticed you didn't eat much at dinner, that's all…"

"Give it to Goyle," Draco absently murmured, well aware of the sharp look Crabbe shot the other—_he_ was used to getting Draco's cast-offs. The sudden shift in preference made the larger boy glare at Goyle, suspecting some treachery.

"Are you sure you don't want it?" Pansy asked, pushing it towards him, growing braver every second that he didn't chase her off.

"I don't want _anything_ from _you_," Draco meanly said, giving her an insulting once-over before turning his eyes back to the window and the moonlit sky.

"Let _me_ have it, then, Pansy," Goyle said, not bright at the best of times and unaware of Crabbe's glower.

"Well…if you're _sure_," Pansy said, hesitating, not wanting to lose her excuse to be near.

Draco ignored the slight scuffle that broke out between Crabbe and Goyle over the chocolate, sighing with irritation when Pansy screamed a little and huddled against his back.

"Get _off_," he growled, pushing an elbow back into her so that she skittered away.

The chocolate disappeared into Crabbe's mouth, much to Goyle's consternation, and Pansy hovered anxiously beside them, all three of them watching him with growing wariness.

He knew why they were suddenly watching him like three startled little mice.

Because he was using his power, that was why. He knew they must see _something_ even though his back was turned to them. But he kept his eyes on the moon and flung his power out like wings unfurling, searching and reaching. He laughed a little in surprise when he realized he could somehow sense every female presence in Hogwarts, to include Moaning Myrtle and the other female ghosts.

"Draco?"

He found Pansy there in the midst of them, a swirling eddy that drew hungrily when his power brushed it—and he felt her jump behind him, her breath catching in her throat.

"Draco…what are you doing?" she asked, not connecting that touch of power with him, but still trying to get his attention.

_Lovesick_, Draco thought, tasting her on his tongue. It didn't surprise him, she'd been at his side for years and years, the closest creature to him when the Siren Call began. The idea of Pansy being heartsick with longing made him smile, and he moved on through the flares of feminine presence until he found one that burned amber bright and strong.

_Granger_. He knew her taste in his sleep now, could sense her as easily as he could feel his own fingers at the ends of his hands. The backlash of power had bound them, her _trickery_ and innocence sacrificed on the altar of his sadistic lust had made her at once partially immune to him and as helplessly dependant upon him as he was on her. He could taste her bitter anger and, beneath it, the bubbling beginnings of truly disturbing desire.

'_I'm coming for you_,' he thought, grinning cruelly up at the moon, tightening his hold on Granger until he felt that amber glow flicker, troubled and touched. '_There's no place now that you can be safe…_'

He coiled that power back into himself and abruptly stood, shoving through the three of them and stalking out into the hallway, heading unerringly to where she waited, tasting her sudden fear like candy in his mouth, made all the sweeter for her need.


	4. Tell Me

She was so furiously scrubbing at the floor that she didn't hear him come in. Her curly hair was pulled back into a messy, escaping bun and her jeans-clad bottom was in the air. It was an admirable sight, if one could forget who that bottom was attached to—Draco took a moment to entertain the notion of planting his foot and giving a shove, but much as he loathed Granger he couldn't really afford to have her falling face-first into a puddle of corrosive dragon's bile. As his mother would say, that would be _beyond the pale_.

"Still scrubbing away like a good little mudblood, are you?" he asked, slamming the door behind him and making her jump. She glanced wildly over her shoulder and then slowly came to her feet, turning to face him with a mulish, cool expression on her face.

"No thanks to you, Malfoy," she tightly said, flinging soapy water off of her dragon-hide gloves. "I expected better."

"Didn't we all?" he lazily asked, giving her chest a pointed look that made her flush, appalled. "But beggars and choosers and such. How's the cleanup coming?"

He saw her start a little.

'_I'm coming for you…_'

"Fine," she said, her voice steadying. "Nearly there. Have you come to apologize?"

Draco affected his best perplexed look, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at her from under the spill of his white-blond bangs.

"For _doing_ what you _did_ to me!" she hissed, infuriated.

"I didn't do anything to you," Draco mildly said, reaching back to slide the bolt across the door. "At least, not the things I _wanted_ to do to you."

Her eyes widened a little but her chin went up—stubborn to the core.

"The only thing I want from you, Malfoy, is your _absence_!" she snapped, and flopped back down on the floor, ignoring him as best she could.

Draco strolled over to her, sitting atop his own desk, idly swinging one leg.

"My absence," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling with a grin before he looked back down at her angrily scrubbing the floor. "You honestly think _I_ owe _you_ an apology? _You_ owe me the cost of another shirt, Granger—your nails tore right through. Bloody sharp things! You should see my back, you little ingrate, you've torn me up one side and down the next!"

"No I didn't," Hermione said, but her blush said otherwise, as had the blood beneath her nails when she bathed after their little standoff in the library. "You're a beast."

"It's not my fault Weasel is about as interesting as a dried turnip," Draco said, leaning back on one hand. "It's no wonder you were a virgin when I had you—he wouldn't know what to do if you handed him a manual and gave him a practice go."

"There's nothing wrong with Ronald, Draco, you're just being cruel!" Hermione cried, sitting up on her feet and slipping the gloves off, tossing them onto the floor. "I didn't want you, remember? _I didn't want you_!"

"But you do _now_," Draco murmured, smirking. "And you're right, Granger. I do _owe_ you."

"An apology!" she weakly reminded. "For being horrid."

"You've _no_ idea," Draco said, grinning at her. "I can do things to you that make the other night look like a birthday party, Granger."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her eyes helpless but her back straight.

"Tell me how to break the bond, Granger," he said, shrugging. "And you've no reason to ever find out how horrid I really can be."

"Go look for it yourself!" she said, surging to her feet.

"This is so much more _fun_," he said, watching her stalk angrily towards the door. "Besides, you know how dull research is."

He was off of the desk in one fluid motion before she could slide the bolt on the door. He slapped his hand down on hers and the skin-to-skin contact made her eyes go cloudy, woke the power like a moiling beast beneath his skin.

"Tell me," he purred, forcing her hand down, squeezing it so that the fine little bones complained and her breathing grew ragged. "Just tell me, Granger, and this will all be a dirty secret between the two of us."

She shook her head mutely, determined to stay her course.

"Well, now," he sighed, cocking his head. He could see himself reflected in her eyes, pale and slender and predatory. "It would seem that the little mudblood has a taste for a pureblood's flesh—don't worry, Granger, it's happened before, your kind getting all _lovesick_ over us. You're all like _animals_ in comparison, aren't you? You say you won't tell me because you gain some manner of control over me with the bond? _I _say you won't tell me because you're just a mudblood who wants to play whore to her betters."

"You _know_ the bond is real, Draco, or else you wouldn't be here right now," Granger managed to say, licking her lips with her pink tongue. "Ask yourself why you _really_ came here, _incubus_. You need to feed, but I haven't felt you feeding from anyone else, have I?"

Draco frowned, annoyed that she would know such a thing. "So?"

"It's because you _can't_!" Granger said, yanking her wrist away and cradling it. "You can't feed from anyone else because you're too dangerous, I won't allow it!"

"You won't allow it?" he echoed, laughing. "You _won't allow_ it!"

He grabbed the column of her throat, catching her beneath her jaw, and forced her backwards, glaring down at her.

"You tell me, I win," he ground out, baring his teeth, forcing her flat against the wall.

"You lose," she whispered, and flowed up his body to kiss him.

The power rose to her lips, spilling into her from his own.

The game was on.


	5. If You Can't Take the Heat

Startled by the suddenness of her actions, Draco shoved backwards, flattening her against the wall and gaining a precious foot of space between them. He paused then, glaring at her and panting a little, holding her firmly to the wall with one hand dead-center on her chest.

"This is _my_ game, mudblood—remember?" he lowly reminded, reigning in that voracious hunger with no little difficulty. He clenched his fingers in her shirt and made a fist, twisting the material taut over her shoulders and pulling her up on the tips of her toes. "We play by _my_ rules."

"If you can't take the heat, Malfoy…" Hermione taunted, returning his glare with venom.

"Shut up!" he snapped, pulling her forward for the simple, vicious joy of slamming her against the wall.

She anticipated it and took the brunt of it with her bowed back, not even wincing.

"You say it's your game," she said a little breathlessly. "Then why are _you_ the one who's losing their temper?"

He let go of her as if she were hot metal, trembling with fury. Every time he thought he had her, she had a comeback, a reaction, _something_ to best him with. Just as she always had, always trying to put herself above him.

She stayed put, taking shaky, uneven breaths, watching him warily. He could taste her hunger, strong as his own—more so, even, since she was incubus-struck beneath their shared bonding. What she had done had toned down his hold on her but had not completely abolished it. He remembered her after their last little meeting, how soft and dreamy her voice had been when she'd whispered, "_Kiss me, Draco_…" She might not obey him as helplessly as she had before, but she still _needed_ him.

Hermione immediately tensed when she saw his lids fall to half-mast, saw the silky, cunning smile that curved his fine lips. Her hand went to her pocket on instinct, reaching for her wand even though it would do her no good against him. Not in this situation. Not anymore now that the damage was done and she'd managed to muzzle him.

"You're all flushed, are you hot?" Draco asked, his tone all mild concern, which only made her all the more wary.

"No," she said, and slid along the wall, scooting away from him. Power skittered across his pale skin, set his flinty eyes to glowing like polished steel.

He cocked his head and took a sudden step towards her, making her jump and utter a little scream that immediately shamed her and made her draw up, offended.

"Scared?" he asked, advancing on her.

"You know you scare me, Draco," Hermione said, moving backwards unsteadily. "Especially now, but that doesn't mean I'll let you have whatever you want. I've never let you bully me and I never _will_, you puling, pitiful excuse of a boy!"

"We'll see who's pitiful, Granger," Draco said, advancing on her with all of the fluid grace of a snake sighting prey—his powers had only enhanced an inherent beauty, had only served to make him even more physically attractive to those around him and despite how badly she loathed him it seemed Granger couldn't keep from staring, stark hunger in her too-large eyes.

"You can't do this here, Draco!" she whispered, pulse thundering at the very idea of it. "Snape could come in at any second—"

"So?"

"—and he would see you for what you are—"

"And?"

"—and he would expel you from Hogwarts—"

"I don't care," Draco said, cutting of this last, weak protest. "No doubt my father has already warned him about me, and what would he care what I do to a mudblood like you, Granger? He despises you as much as I do."

He reached out and snatched her wrist, hauling her close to stare down into her eyes. He shook her once and then cuffed her soundly, looking for the thrill of fear on her face but she only glared at him, taking the hits better than most men would.

Still, when he bent his head and lapped the blood from the corner of her mouth she sank her fingers into his hair and gave him a vicious, hungry kiss, trading bites and fury, pulling his power over them both like a thick, warm blanket.

He held her tightly to him, distracted by the taste of her, by the steadily increasing flow of pleasure that fed him. Her back arched, fitting her to him like a puzzle piece, and when he leaned into her she put her hand back on the desk behind her, seeking to steady them. He swallowed her gasp, swallowed the abrupt thrill of her senses when her hand came down on the edge of a preparation blade and sliced her palm neatly open, the pain merely a sharp goad to her pleasure.

He boosted her up on the desk, quick, knowing hands running up beneath her sweater to touch her bare skin and span her delicate ribcage. All of her nerves cried out to him, he felt the goosebumps run over her flesh as if they rose on his very own, and both of them shivered.

"Let me in," he whispered into her mouth, catching her lip between his teeth, tipping her head back to run his tongue along the soft curve of her jaw. "Show me the darkest part of yourself, Granger."

She groaned, clutching him with one hand, her wounded hand dripping blood onto the desk. She clenched her fist and found his mouth again with her lips, her eyes tightly closed against him.

Draco kissed her breathless, insisting with his strengthening power, '_Let me in and show me your secrets, show me the darkest corner of yourself so that I can tear you apart…_'

She whimpered, trying to resist, trying to use the sharp pain of that cut to keep him at bay—but he won out in the end. She folded beneath his strength and he was in her most closely guarded secrets, privy to the most jealously kept and hidden desires in her fevered brain.

Had he not been raised in such a way and with such things natural to him, he might've been utterly shocked. As it was his hold tightened reflexively on her and he kissed her harder, every dark and secret desire of hers now filling him with heady lust. What _things_ she hid beneath that priggish, cool exterior—such things as would send someone like Pansy running, screaming, for the nearest sane place and make Lucius Malfoy go pale and steady himself on the furniture.

And she was all _his_.

Just as Draco gathered himself to truly do his worst to Hermione, he heard the quick, sharp staccato of Snape's boots on the floor.

The doorknob began to turn.

_Checkmate_.


	6. Stalemate

When Snape finally got the door open all he saw was one very agitated Miss Granger and one very bored looking Draco Malfoy standing behind a desk on the far side of the room. Glancing around, he asked, "_Why_ was this door _locked_?"

"Must've slipped it on accident when I closed it behind me, sir," Draco said, holding Granger still, both of them hidden behind the desk.

Snape gave him a long look before mildly inquiring, "And _why_ are you here, Mister Malfoy?"

"I was coming to get my book and heard her scream, sir," Draco improvised, smiling as he slipped his hand down the back of Granger's slightly loose jeans. She hitched a little, eyes wide, but didn't put either of them at risk by turning on him.

Snape looked at the floor where she was supposed to be cleaning, coming a little ways into the room.

"And why were you screaming, Miss Granger?"

Draco grinned and worked his fingers down the curve of her bottom, once again pleasantly surprised to find a marked lack of underwear. Leaning his free arm against the desk in a negligent manner that also gave him quite a bit more room to work with, he unerringly slipped his hand between her slightly spread legs and found her, wet and hot.

"_Oh my god_!" Granger whimpered, stiffening delightfully and trying to draw her legs together over Draco's hand, her eyes nearly popping from her head.

Snape looked at her with the same distaste he showed all people below the age of thirty and asked, "Granger? Do you have an explanation for your apparent screaming?"

"She's cut herself, sir," Draco said, and though her jeans constricted how easily he could move his fingers, he did an admirable job of fingering her behind the desk, soaking up her pleasure like a feast. "I came in and found her this way."

"And _why _were you over there in the first place?" Snape cocked his head, looking at her, and murmured, "You _do_ look pale, however, Granger. Is it bad?"

She squeaked, trying very hard not to let on that _extremely_ inappropriate things were happening just below the level of the desk, though the quicker his deft fingers worked the harder it was to appear normal. He gave a squeeze to her flesh that made her breath come out in a rush, pricking Snape's suspicious nature.

"And now you're flushed," he lowly said, drawing nearer. His suspicious gaze turned on Draco, who merely looked bored, and he added, "Miss Granger, I _do_ hope you're aware that the price of fraternization is _expulsion_?"

Draco snorted and gave Hermione a disgusted look before saying to Snape, "Honestly, sir—that's _sickening_. Here, look, she's not so bad off but it seems she's a bit squeamish."

Another rub of his clever fingers and she gasped a little, surging against the desk. Luckily Draco had just lifted her hand for Snape's inspection and it seemed a fairly natural reaction of one who disliked the sight of blood.

Snape looked at her hand, assessing for himself the state of it, and flipped about with a sneer, saying, "Patch her up, Malfoy, and take her to Madame Pomfrey before she passes out. Granger, you can explain to me how you came to be messing about at that desk later on, once you're not in imminent danger of _fainting_."

Just as the door closed on his narrow, pale face, Hermione snapped taut in a shuddering orgasm, gasping behind the hand Draco slapped over her mouth and clenching both little fists in the air.

Her shuddering body doubled over as she cried out into his palm, pushing back against his hand and collapsing on top of the desk.

"Well, _that_ was close," Draco said, sniggering at the pulse of her, at the hungry way her body clenched on his fingers when he slipped them easily inside her. "I rather fancy you gagged, Granger—makes you _loads_ less annoying."

He glanced shrewdly at the door, weighing his chances, and then slipped his hand from her delightfully hot body to hurriedly unzip her jeans, keeping one hand firmly clamped over her mouth.

She squealed a little, wriggling in apparent protest, but stilled, startled, when he smacked her bare bottom one and warningly said, "_My_ game, _my_ rules—hold still or I'll start being _nice_ to you."

That quieted her down.

He loosened his own jeans and slid into her, pushing her hips up on the desk, laying her out flat on her stomach, giving him the perfect angle. He covered her back, laying over her and gripping the edge of the desk with his free hand while her tongue traced patterns on his palm, her moans humming against his fingers as she easily climaxed with the first thrust. The wash of pleasure that lifted up from her nearly unhinged him, but he was getting better at controlling it, getting better at _not_ losing himself to the pleasure she was feeling, though the hunger stayed strong.

Her slender body moved under his with a strength all unknown to him, her hands—both the whole and wounded one—gripping the desk so hard her knuckles were white, her bottom working against him as much as she was able to beneath his lean weight. She kept moaning against his hand, moans that escalated to hard-to-stifle screams as she hit that spiral in his power and peaked over and over, her body squeezing him so hard he hissed. Her pleasure poured into him, filling an ever-widening hole in an endless cycle, and he shuddered above her, his nerves feeling things that no lover had ever managed to invoke—and it was all _her _doing. Thanks to his power whatever Granger felt _he_ felt as well, senses bursting with a pleasure that bordered on pain with each successively harder climax.

He breathed it in, that magic, taking ragged breaths saturated with sex. Her hips moved demandingly against him but he slowed his frantic pace, forcing her to be still beneath him, determined to regain a measure of control—his power's ability to completely overtake him still frightened him more than he was willing to admit. It would be all too easy to give into it, to truly be a creature that satiated itself on sex, taking lover after lover with no regard to anything but the pleasure they would feed him with. And again came the warning in the coldly rational part of his mind, that to abandon himself to such a path would invite something stronger to take control of him.

Granger twisted beneath him, demanding, and gripped the hand over her mouth hard, nails biting deep.

Draco uncovered her mouth, panting and still as the powerful wave of magic subsided a little, waiting but far from satisfied.

"What is it?" Hermione breathlessly panted, her wounded hand holding his away from her lips. She made a frustrated, wincing noise and squeezed him tightly, moaning, "Someone could come in any minute, _don't stop_."

"_God_, don't do that!" Draco snapped, not expecting her to be able to move so well _inside_. He pushed up tighter against her, making her gasp, and leaned down to bite her lobe, sinking his teeth into her sweat-tinged flesh until she went liquid around him, purring as her pleasure built. And still the magic pressed upon him, demanding more and more and more—more pleasure, more sweat, more flesh, deeper until he was in the heart of her, harder until she bled, faster until everything exploded into white-hot, agonizing bliss.

She mewed beneath him and again that ripple went through her again, a rhythmic squeeze that broke through the last of his rational intentions. Taking a steadying breath, he started again.

But oh so _slowly_.

Hermione writhed beneath him, making sweet, keening noises deep in her throat, her body squeezing him hard with every slow, deep thrust, her lust rising in a dizzying wave.

"Oh god," she sighed, her head flung back, her breath coming in increasingly short gasps that tested his willpower as thoroughly as her enjoyment did. "Oh _god_!"

She went again and Draco found her little ear again, harshly whispering, "That's it, mudblood, _squeeze_ me."

Hermione moaned again and squeezed him so tightly he saw spots before his eyes and gasped. Hovering on the verge of a shattering orgasm, Draco twisted her bloody hand up over her head and clamped his free hand back over her mouth while he pushed slowly and deeply into her.

He slid his tongue out and slowly teased it up inside the slit on her palm, dragging it deeply through the bloody slice and into the meat of her flesh.

Hermione Granger came undone beneath him, screaming harshly, and he happily came with her, riding the crest of an eruption of flesh and magic that left them both breathless, utterly replete and spent.

_Stalemate._


	7. Perish the Thought

Draco wouldn't have moved anytime soon if it hadn't been for the insistent rapping sound reaching his ears. It took a bare second to register the sound as Snape's boots once more, and the ensuing panic cleared the last vestiges of lethargy from his limbs. Granger stiffened with fear beneath him, drawing back into the curve of his body as if she could hide there, her eyes suddenly _extremely _coherent.

With strength reinforced by panic Draco scooped her body to his and hit the floor with her, sliding her from the desk and curling tightly around her, trying to make their merged bodies as invisible as possible and praying to his everlasting luck that Snape not come searching the room.

It was fairly hard to concentrate with Hermione still so soft around him, though sheer terror did its part to suck the desire from him. However, the irony of the situation was not lost on him, and he bit his lip to control a snigger that wanted to worm its way out because the only thing he wanted more in the world than for Snape to go away was for Granger to get caught with her pants down—_literally_.

He peered beneath the desk and saw the door open, watched Snape's dark boots take a few steps into the room while the older man murmured, "…I know I put it…_ah_! Here we are…"

The boots quickly went to Snape's desk and there was a clinking sound as he rummaged, withdrawing something with a low chortle. The boots turned back towards the door and paused in the direction of Draco's usual desk, one toe tapping in anger.

"Can't even get _that_ right," he lowly said, and heaved a sigh worthy of the stage before stomping back out into the hallway, the door closing heavily behind him.

Draco slumped over Granger's body, nearly faint with relief. It wasn't the idea of being caught with her that hit him like a bucket of cold water—it was the thought of what his _father_ would do to him. And the more he considered it, the less he liked their current situation.

"Get up!" he hissed, and gave her a pinch that made her yelp and twist angrily in his grip. "Put your clothes on, you look like a bloody whore."

He shoved away from her, zipping back up, his eyes darting to the door while Granger wriggled herself back into her jeans, shaking with mingled fury and fear. He stood up, dusting his clothes off, the power content for the moment.

"You don't always have to be so _awful_," Granger lowly said, dusting her hands off on her jeans, wincing at the cut. Now that the flush of sensation was gone the cut hurt, bleeding afresh thanks to Draco's questing tongue. She tugged her sweater back down over her belly with simple dignity, giving him the same look she usually gave to Potty and the Weasel when they misbehaved—disapproving and _disappointed_.

"The mother bit only works on your little pals, mudblood," Draco snapped, taking a breath to calm his nerves, absently running one hand through the straight sheaf of his hair.

She huffed angrily and stomped off, tossing the dragon hide gloves into the pail of soapy water and dumping the whole mess into the drain at the back of the room.

Draco crossed to the door and paused, listening for anyone outside. He'd just opened it a crack when he heard her slight indrawn hiss and felt a tug. It wasn't lust or desire, no pull for sex—it was just a tug at his incubus self, the part of him woven into the part of Granger that had trapped him.

"Are you dying or something?" he called, glaring over at her where she was stooped above the drain.

"Just _sod_ _off_, Malfoy!" she yelled, sounding tired and, somehow, defeated. She was looking down at her sliced palm, tilting her head and making little concerned "tsk"ing sounds.

"Are you going to pass out on me, Granger?" he asked, abandoning the door for her turned back. He won the brief struggle for ownership of her cut palm and peered down at it. The blood was flowing again, bright red and salty, and the edges looked angry.

"I'm not going to pass out, you horrible creature," she softly said, jerking her palm away. "I think I got some soap in it, it just stings."

"Maybe you got some of that dragon bile in it," he reasoned, snatching her hand back and giving her wrist a hard squeeze that convinced her to let it rest in his hand. Much as he liked hurting her, this wasn't of _his_ doing, and the possibility of something corrosive getting into her body wasn't exactly the stuff his dreams were made of.

"Why don't you _leave_," Hermione suggested, giving him a baleful glare, her cheeks still flushed with heat and her body growing progressively warmer the longer he touched her bare skin. "If I keep on with you at this rate you'll wind up the death of me."

"Not such a bad way to go," Draco murmured, still examining her palm.

"Was that a joke?" she asked, suspicious. "Are you trying to be funny? Because you're really _not_ funny."

"Come on," Draco said, ignoring her tone.

"I'm not going anywhere with _you_," she said, shaking her head and once again trying to pull her hand away.

Draco tightened his hold on her wrist and gave her a little shake. She winced but kept glaring.

"Come _on_," he snapped, jerking her towards the door.

"I mean it, Malfoy!" she cried, and there was real alarm there, a true tremble in her voice that spoke of threatening tears. "You've changed the game! _I'm not going _anywhere_ with _you!"

"I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey!" he shouted, rounding on her and giving her another shake, his short temper at its end. Valiantly attempting to sound marginally in control of it, he tightly added, "If you've gotten dragon's bile in it she'll need to treat you."

They stared at one another, both of them furious, Hermione's hand still trapped and bleeding.

"Thank you," she finally whispered, and gave him a quick, soft kiss that utterly disarmed him. There was no deceit in her now, no arrogance. She was tired and overworked and pushed to the last of her power; and even though she was about as vulnerable as she was ever going to be, he somehow didn't have the energy to break her. Not after _that_ kiss. "I still think you're horrid. I'm still not going to tell you how to break the bond."

"Perish the thought," Draco snapped, heading out of the door and up the stairs, Hermione firmly in tow.

_Draw._


	8. Guarantee

The cut required stitches. Draco only found this out in passing several days later—he'd deposited Granger in the sanitarium and promptly left her there, unwilling to spend any more time with her than he absolutely had to. The fact that they hated one another was only making their bond more difficult to deal with as neither could find any redeeming qualities in the other.

She wasn't too keen on him either, missing classes several days in a row pleading an incapacitating headache. Draco was man enough to admit that he missed her, but only because her absence gave him an unimpeded view of Weaselby, who looked even more morose than usual with Granger gone.

Potty seemed to be a little more aware of the situation, or perhaps Hermione confided in him since he had more brains than Weasley. He maintained a hostile, furious attitude directed at Draco, who merely smirked every time Potty's bespectacled eyes landed on him.

He did catch some interesting byplay between Chamber-pot and the Weasel, affecting not to notice Ron's distinctive, plaintive voice asking, "But if she's got a _headache_ why is she _studying_ so hard?"

Potty shushed him, but Draco had heard enough to get suspicious. He was vain enough to think the research had something to do with himself, and cunning enough to realize that his vanity was probably one-hundred percent correct in this matter.

That night as he lay in bed staring at the curtained ceiling of the canopy, he again let that power unfurl to find her.

She was awake still, and anxious. All it took was for him to drop the conscious walls he'd built against her and he could feel exactly what she was feeling, like touching living flesh through gauzy netting—almost there, but not quite.

'_What are you up to, mudblood_?' he wondered, trying to ascertain her actions from her moiling emotions.

There was a flutter of awareness, a sudden fury tinged with curiosity as she realized he was there with her, using their connection.

'_Draco_…'

He didn't so much _hear_ her as felt her like a physical touch—like the barest brush of fingers down his spine.

The next touch was not so kind. He was forcefully evicted from her, the connection clamped down on at her end as her determination erected a rather formidable barrier.

'_You are _not_ welcome here_…'

The hunger woke to her presence, even with such little contact, bubbling beneath the surface with the slow, threatening assurance of becoming more demanding. Bound to Granger as it was, it _wanted_ her, and constantly—regardless of Draco's personal preference.

He laughed a little to be so expelled, to feel the power curling inside him, knowing that she would answer when it came time. He thought of the things he'd seen in the darkest portion of her mind—those secret desires harbored in silence by every person alive, things that would never be spoken of, never be shared. Such degrading depravities that so frightened her she scarce examined them, fearing to be lost to such things. Secret desires were just that—secret; there was no real hope or danger of them coming true.

Except now _he_ knew. They were secret no more. And every humiliation, every horrifying terror, every cruel _need_ that made her shrink in on herself and whimper like a bloodied animal he would wreak on her. He knew Hermione Granger better and more deeply now than even her own muggle parents, than Weasley or Potter or _anyone_. And the power was content to know that he would have her laid out on a table like a pagan feast and doing such things to her as would give her nightmares and heated dreams for years to come.

He _guaranteed _it.

* * *

**Okay, as I have the attention span of a fruit fly, I've decided to break this story up into two parts, so look for the next installment. I would say I'm going to get creative and name it something awesome...but don't be shocked if it's something lame like Play My Game Part II. Sorry, it's just that the longer an author makes a story, the less likely people are to bother with it.**

**--Purefoysgirl**


End file.
